


Disequilibrium

by parisol



Series: Poetry [1]
Category: Original Work, Poetry - Fandom
Genre: Poetry, if you want to have a look at my better poems then skip to the end maybe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-19 12:16:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 50
Words: 5,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22177432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parisol/pseuds/parisol
Summary: i wrote this while trying to drinkthe last of my tea;i was full of it, belly warm,eyes drooping,mint cooling slowly in thehollow beyond my lips.;this is my first poetry collection
Series: Poetry [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1654435





	1. Guide You Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick preface: I’ve changed so much over the months (years, even, for some poems) since I started writing these, so some of my opinions have changed, and when I read back on these I realise I wasn’t always getting my point across the way I wanted. Still, I’m proud of them, and I’m putting all the ones I posted on tumblr onto here (I think the better ones are the about halfway onwards). I hope you enjoy them :)

A serene wasteland of opportunity washes down my front.

I wander for decades, round and round I go,

Waiting.

Watching.

Listening.

Waiting for what?

The waterfall of molasses over my eyes stops,

And it drips unbidden from my eyelashes.

And it’s a haunting reminder.

Of what came before.

Of what could come after.

What could come after? I wonder to myself.

And my cells divide

And the burning reaches my lungs

So that i’m breathing in the shadowed air

And the fire reaches my mouth

It climbs out, slithering, destroying

And I don’t know up from down -

Suddenly, My eyes!

They exchange numbers with the dark

And gain entry to the few and far between Vegas signs.

The neon! It blinds and tortures me,

And even with sweet, ol’ Dark’s blessings of good intentions,

I run for the hills, I carpet them in green.

My second face smiles wanly

As the forbidden lighthouse

A glowing oasis of knowledge

Descends its beam upon my star-tanned skin

And sweeps me off my aching feet.

Onto solid earth, I thump my head and already-bruised ego,

And I find myself on a book of notes Praying for a clear week

Clear skies

Clear skin

Clear eyes

Sleeping on a bed of lies,

I’m pulling out notes! and excuses! and sick days! and legs!

And at the end of time, when we’ve all fallen down,

Next to my ear rests the dove I sent long ago

My only love

Who I begged,

And still begged,

For a ray of hope!

But they’re poisoned. They’re dead.

Still.


	2. Guide You Home

my heart is calloused 

its ridges and crevices tug at the pages 

that rustle in the wind as it greets 

the heartache flying out of the car i borrowed

for a roadtrip to the sunset. 

comfort and stress and pain line my

body

all reddened scars and mottled skin

marks of a prison of my own design.

she didn’t see this before

did

she?

no

she saw my innate fear

and 

new sunrises blossoming into tender desire.

she still clings to me, you know.

the paranoid child in my mind

crawls across my skin

i slap at a bare hip

but there’s nobody there

and then a sharp OUCH screams across the other

and she folds her arms smugly

zip it.

why does my heart still try? yearn for another 

squeeze, ba-boom, ba-boom?

why does she chain me to the ground, squirming and resigned, at a time of stress and predictions?

why can’t

she 

let me 

go?


	3. air

they left,

all the people.

their hands wove gold into the sea foam

for the last time—

their hearts ran circles ‘round an empty field

for the last time—

their lips pressed against the glass 

its cool depth tugging at fine hairs

for the last time—

their skin

all plasticine and mortar

stuck to their souls—

their fingers melted together like butter

hands intertwined in an inescapable embrace

tighter and tighter than their own strands, dna falling from their eyes—

and they were gone.

they breathed love

for the last time.


	4. eyes

I don’t rush at it anymore.

It’s not worth my gaze,

Not worth sharp eyes (all bitten to the core)

And twisted smiles (all stretched into place)

And all contorted movements (held by endless hands)

—and a blushing nose.

Not worth the rosy flush that climbs it—

It’s not a garden. It’s not a vase. 

So. 

What do I do with my time?

What happened to sharp eyes?

What happened to disguise?

Where did all the dust go?

It had once settled into a cloak of dread

Around my all-consuming body.

Where’d the pillars that I sleep upon—

That Hellenistic waste of chewy pink matter

(That tugs at the knives hidden in the attic of my mind)

And red-hot flattery (that singes the tips of sharpened bones)

— Where did it all live before it lay waste to my mind?

Where am I?

What do I do when the lights don’t fly away?

When my hips flow over, the cup overfloweth?

The lines don’t fade into oblivion,

And the air begins to speak

Of burnt sugar and home-brewed smoke,

And I yell to the eye:

“Take this, all of you, and eat of it— 

For this is my body,

The everlasting Covenant,

Given up for you.”

When I’ve stumbled down the marble

Off the platform of my dreams

What’ll I be?

I don’t let my eyes stray to the floor. 

That’s not what they’re for.


	5. break

it’s constant, the hum.

the low drone of it washes over you

cleansing

the air vent soaps your skin

scrubs at the dirt that sits in the crevices and on the surface.

crescent eyelids droop, wilting,

waxy in the growing shadows

that stretch their arms across and overhead

to caress

to press

to slide them shut 

to let the rosemallows bloom into dreams

to let their delicate energy burst into invention

to let you fly.

the hum is softer, now, careful not to rustle the meadow 

careful to breathe in the deep honeydew and out the CO2

it rinses your heart,

it wipes at your face.

and it peers at you, your cocoa smile,

and it presses flowers into your forehead—

ready for you when you awake.


	6. Drift

You’re drifting

High upon the mountains that watch over the town

Where you had been planted eons ago

Just a daisy

All delicate and pale

All leaves and roots and petals

That fluttered in the wind and the rain

As it fell upon your skin

Gentle and hypnotising

All honeydew and milk

But you’re drifting

Laid on soft cotton

That wispy comfort that holds your tears

And you look down—

They’d had a good life, the other flowers

They bloomed into happiness

Faster than stormclouds

That you’d scrambled for purchase on

As they raced across the sky

—yet as you look down

Eyeballs rolling across starry fields and streets of water

You don’t want to sit anymore

Life’s too dull when you don’t live 

They’re all baby’s breath, dotted along riverbanks and under trees 

You drift, you drift, you blow air 

Through your teeth and you cry

And your lips kiss the sky

And you’re yelling

All “take me, don’t leave me, I’m ready now!”

And She touches your spirit

Dabs at your tears;

“I know, dear.”

You’re planted in a vase

In a cottage in a town

Laid on soft cotton

That wispy comfort that holds your tears

And you’re just a daisy.

All delicate and pale.

Blooming into happiness

And racing below stormclouds

Into happiness.


	7. the house

the door opens her mouth and holds out her hand to beckon your safety

“come in, my dear,” she creaks, and the fates

dip you and twirl you 

into a delicate, light-footed dance

of anticipation woven into your skin

that prickles and raises higher and higher

until you’re shivering with it

‘til you’re trembling

and you peek round the corner

that holds the promise of shelter.

the fire greets your body

gently, gently caressing 

to warm the rain-soaked skin

and dry your melancholy eyes

that seem to play faster and faster,

arco a blur across the violin that once sat, dusty, in your mind

but the fire pats your hand

kisses your cheek

“it’s quite alright. let it out.”

so you sit there with her and 

the violin wails of your pain.

  
  



	8. jotted

don’t let it fester

that wound that sits deep

in your heart

as it tears and rips and tugs your lips

downwards!

down!

down into unrest—

no! don’t let it drag you.

seize it! and press your pen

deep into its veins

until blood spurts and refills the nib 

to scratch at it again and again

until it’s nothing but a distant itch

and a handful of words on a page.

  
  



	9. swim between the flags

it falls over you,

a wave crashing down

pinning your lungs 

filling them

and you can’t move

the cord wrapped

choking

and you kick against the sand

please please please

bubbles erupting 

a slam against your head

your knee

unforged glass scraping your palms

panic

it pulls you in all directions

thrashing

but you’re pinned

weightless

but heavy in an ocean of words

and then

air

cold and free

and priceless

you cough 

the words spewing out of your lungs

bloodied, abandoned stories mixing

into the sea,

salt stinging scraped hands

and bruised knuckles

and you let the gentle end of the story

push you back to shore

sit there in your pain

clutching

a pen and a manuscript

—the sea is still there

a dangerous

frothing ocean

of words that bubble to the surface

or drag you underneath.

breathe for now

but later

dive back in

—between the flags. 


	10. it eludes me

can you see it?

no, it’s too dark in here.

light the oil lamps, please!

... or let me wander in the dark, i guess.

blindly smacking walls

pages flying round and round.

i can’t find that memory,

a scribbled note in my brain.

and sifting through endless files and papers

that lie, untouched

or rifled through with butterfly hands,

piles sitting to the side

waiting; 

i can’t recall!

the request won’t send

through the tubes and wiring

that trace the pink mass

of memories and processes—

who let go first? 

did i pull away too soon?

too scared to stay forever

too scared to bruise you?

or did you let go 

at the delicate, pale dawn 

of my rose-petal ability to bear?

my heart no longer pounds!

but it aches and it groans

like an iron giant in the sun

joints creaking as they strain

to hold up the weight—

of the matches that i set down;

of the scalpel locked away;

of the pen that i grip

focused on holding it upright

focused on the strength and tension

to never snap it in two;

of the world i create;

of a ravine-deep pain.

can you help me

to look for it?

or just tell me

what notes you left

in your archive!

can you see it?

can you feel it?

can you hear it through the dark?

that deafens and prickles the skin?

can you find it?


	11. Miss American Pie

why don’t you sit there

all eucalyptus and lemon?

you and your latticed fingers

cupped round a sour apple

that’s been beaten black and blue

til it’s barely recognisable?

you and your sickly tongue

that’s matted beyond belief

from all those cough lollies 

and endless minties

that spill out of pockets

bras

reddened lips

knotted tongues?

why don’t you tuck yourself into 

that sugar-dusted corner of the universe

while they play pretend ‘round empty hallways

pressing train tracks into the soft

dough of galaxies and stars?

why don’t you fade?

how do you keep shining beyond rust and corrosion?


	12. waiting in line

you’re in the rabbit hole of purgatory

that whispers its moonlit secrets in your ear—

of the breeze that tugs at your hair

and laughs and darts away

presses a cheeky kiss to your lips 

and brightly laughs at your warm surprise;

of pale uniforms, worn and faded

and melded into your star-tanned skin;

of exhaustion settled into your ankles

that swing and knock against the bricks

or tuck against the wind

as the earth breathes in tandem with you

in

and out

in

and out

in…

and out...

cool against tacky skin

and gentle against prickling eyes;

of arms extended to you

(in a greeting or a farewell?)

in an everlasting embrace;

but soon!

now!

They’re pushed closer and closer

in Their rotted boat of flowers

and thin butterflies at your feet

perpetually ephemeral and transient

—a neverending Death

who offers you a seat to Their right

and sails forever into tomorrow.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	13. Bad Omens

when the sun yawns and falls into bed,

closes her eyes and drifts away,

hugs the soft pillows of clouds to her chest

and breathes in deeply the rich, oil-slick air;

when the phoenix rages across the night

blazing prose across raw papyrus

that sits, unripened, in a smoking swamp;

when the ocean laps at bottles,

dehydrated from plastic and carbon

yet still desperate for survival;

when red cheeks turn pale 

and warm hands are dipped in ice

and breath turns to gas that burns ballpoint-tip blue 

and chests are no longer heaved on land;

when all these planets are aligned and ready

then this wine to be held forever smells full heady.


	14. Ode to Angel Poppins

she plant’d it in stone, for all to see,

umbrella in free lace, the waist cinched tight

and not a spot; so perfectly dry! unnaturally dry!

as almonds dipp’d high cynicism - and oh, what a sight!

it dripped with its dryness, it settled in its thoughts

and it fought, and it lifted for none; 

not aging king nor pretty-eyed prince 

nor rich crook in the rinse, flailing son!

or patient oracle, blood in her hair;

lily-liv’d maiden fair, thy trembling hand!

their dragon who sleeps in the holy keep;

not even for the steep of trickling sand!

but then! oh then, a wail sounded out, 

a pained cry, shout from the mouths of babes

who crawled to the page, penned a charcoal-goodbye

and planned with a sigh their great escapes. 

and lo and behold! she unfurled her wings

and lifted rings of dryness to the sky

to let rejected tears pour over her gown;

and to let prodigals’ down servants cry.


	15. Blues

your future is layered in dust,

your past shines with copper and regret,

and the present is a diamond mountain.


	16. For the Sun

Ashen phoenix of the cotton blue flew home to roost.

Nestled in my dappled arms, she smiled 

Against my skin with utter content;

Gentle ghosts of daybreak, to my mind they sidled.

But chickens don’t stay in pens forever,

And soon that fire had to leave.

A drunken scholar with too many eyes,

I tried and tried to believe

That I wasn’t completely alone in the world,

That the haunts of the past stood solid.

That phoenixes emerge from silver linings

And don’t sit behind the foliage.


	17. Tearing Up

rain patters like bloody teardrops on snow,

and each breath is a gust of fear

shivering and whistling and whipping 

those wild hedges into shape.

but the clouds lighten up,

midas brushes a heavy cotton sob

and it thins into fine lace whimpers

and again

again

into barely a breeze;

softly

softly 

softer now

with loosely-knitted heartstrings 

clinging to my arms

clinging to you 

whispering 

goodbye 

and so long 

and farewell 

into your shoulder

into the wind

into tomorrow.


	18. You Hold Two Choices

You hold two choices in those soft and tear-damp hands: 

Sit in an open cage, nested and comfortable

And let the feathers whisper you into uneasy sleep

Of rumours told by petrichor’s mother

Of a time-shifting array of thoughts

That won’t wash off, out, damned spot...

Or transform! fingers elongating and sharpening,

Blood beating and thrumming, 

The holiest of shrieks from your fanged lips.

Let the gods rain their applause down upon you,

Let the sky open up and listen 

To that unquiet banshee who will not rot in peace,

Will not climb into a velvet coffin,

Will not die. 


	19. Climbing Out

When I first laid eyes upon you,

I was a child, toddling up to press wide eyes

Against cool glass, peering through

The window of dreams that kept me from you

And I rushed outside to greet you,

A brilliant sunrise, lighting up the dew-damp fields;

You! Golden and ancient and strong,

And you embraced me with open arms!

I was a doe-eyed child, and so I played, 

But you told me, smiling, “You’re a child!” 

And you pushed me into a chair and you smiled 

And I toiled under your burning gaze.

Your arms did not falter,

And I grew faster and faster and sweat dripped 

Onto the fields, those dry, sweat-damp fields!

And I stood, and you shone your teeth, “Just a child!”

Mother of all, hidden, watching behind clouds,

Or sentry, burning on my neck

As I try and try and try to leave.

Hands digging faster and faster

Below the food-chain fence,

Climbing over the anxious brick wall…

Picking up the shards of dreams 

That lie, abandoned, on the path…

The birds have to leave the nest someday.

All those redwood trees stand tall against the sun

Sheltering, protecting.

Sunflowers face their mothers, they don’t back down…

It’s time for one last hug. 

One last textbook,

One last teaching,

And finally! the first farewell.


	20. A Reluctant Part

I’ve donned myself in blackened roses

And a droning number, too,

Voice running over streams 

Faster and faster,

My palms outstretched and offering condolences;

Skin, not pale! pallid, 

Leaping into your arms to say goodbye.

Farewell, farewell! 

Farewell to spring, 

For your efforts in hazy summer shall surely wilt and weep

Under the all-encompassing heat

Of a scrutinising gaze.


	21. Lovey Dovey Bullshit

Rain patters tenderly on skin and grass

And roofs held closely o’erhead your lights

That warm your hands, tightly woven, forged brass; 

And your hearts soar together to new heights!

His laughter rolls across ceilinged cities,

Thunderous and lovely and delicate,

So delicate! And he smiles joyfully

At your face, melted and affectionate

In the dusk moonlight. And your eyes, they dance 

Over gently carved planes and softer dips

Like a marble statue, and in a trance

Your lips press curiously to his lips

To feel the warmth, to ensure he will stay

And perhaps kiss more on another day.


	22. My Heart

It’s been a slow awakening in me;

Stretching, tranquil, warm under the covers, 

In all the early mornings I can see

My life piled in front of me - two lovers

And a cat. And nine thousand stars - ahem,

Four thousand, five hundred and forty eight 

For me, my hemisphere; and the rest for them:

My partner in crime on narrow and straight,

My soulmate on the edge of tomorrow, 

My beautiful spouse coming from a dream

Into a reality I could follow,

Into tomorrow’s scheme, a life downstream;

Free? From the constant searching, I do feel 

Like a balloon held tight ready to pop,

Or a hinge rusted closed, squeaky and dull;

Like someone ready for it all to stop.

And perhaps I could do so, just talk more and more

Or even less

Let my words flow from the core

Let my love find me themself, and caress;

But maybe the world wasn’t built for one

Maybe I am meant to give Him a son

Or maybe my thoughts are overwrought and then some

And maybe it’s all in my head and I’m dumb—

No! No. That may be so,

But the path I take is trodden in a yellow wood

I can tread left or right, I can twist, I can turn,

And I can choose the way I like in a familiar forest!

I can diverge and converge and my heart! it can pound

All it likes! and it can toil all it cares!

But it doesn’t matter, it’s my heart.

So I weigh sunburnt leaves and I pray and

I start

And I stroll with a smile, ignore demand

And I choose instead: love with all my heart.

And I slip back downstream, but I hold to my rope;

Twined leaves, new and lovely, it gives me hope.


	23. I - Ghosts

Tell me, what are ghosts

But sad hauntings of the past? 

Fractured memories. 


	24. II - Dawn

Mint, sharp and soothing.

I yawn wide, slow as honey, 

And enjoy my day. 


	25. What are You Doing with Your Life?

It’s in the words lost on empty pages

And the empty chords ringing in my ears;

Prisms twisted too far, past all stages

With light streaming rainbows through my dripped tears;

It’s in all of these quiet, still moments

That I listen to my heart and realise:

The world does not spin around me, romance 

Is not a granted gift to idealise;

Life moves on without me, the rhymes keep on

As the sparkle of love blinds me, shining

Brightly in the midday sun, or whence gone 

From the sky, replaced by a moonlit string

That floats across the lake, slowly forming

Into Pandora’s Horse — me, it’s calling. 

  
  
  



	26. III - Garden Under Skin

I peel back my skin

And pain reveals damp green leaves —

Gardens between bones.


	27. Collected

I can’t speak

The words don’t come easily these days.

I spend all my waking moments thinking

Of you

Of the blurry horizon 

Of you

Of bittersweet coffee, two and a half sugars at home

Or two if you’re out alone

But two and a half whenever we’re together —

Of you!

Your sock collection hangs lonely on the line

And your mug collection clinks, cluttered;

You’re always collecting things 

Polaroids of broken friendships

Apple stickers and favourite books, a bouquet of words;

Hearts and words. In your arms, they sit,

So many lives collected, bundled,

Their voices kept on display —

And I’m here. Still here. My voice is a gift

And it’s yours. Take it, collect it, hang it lonely on the line

As long as I’m yours.


	28. 34

I celebrate twice as many new years as my friends,

My skin has touched twice as many sunrises;

How many of them belong to eternity, I wonder.

January’s fireworks light up tired eyes, 

Regenerating dead cells 

And then red and gold blessings, declarations of luck,

They cool the sweaty aftermath;

They make me anew.

My  bà  ngoại was born on the new year

And for a moment, I was too.

In the same heartbeat we both prepared for 

A new beginning. 

A feast.

My heart loves in double time.

Thirty-four half years gone and I am still in school.

(Not for long, I think, then the Bachelor greets me.)

Thirty-five half years and I am eating popcorn alone. 

Thirty-five half years and the fireworks are empty shells.

I am reborn.


	29. Missed Opportunities

If a genie tapped me on the shoulder, I’d scream

For them to let go, to go away

And then where would I be?

Crying over missed opportunities?

A reflex born from fear ruins me. 


	30. Tableaux

A photograph,

they stand tall, 

picturesque

arms reaching out

praising the clouds as 

they hang heavy with snow

on needles and boughs

dew-softened in the dawn

light, arms held gently by those

peachy rays—

and still, 

still! still in the 

early dusk, feathered by

the heavy air, warmed 

by baked concrete paths,

they stand tall, guardians

of a future that could be

green and strong

tiny heralds 

of past present future

ghosts.


	31. Impasse in Time

A trip down reminiscence road falls further 

Down the sprained bends of bitumen that melt into

Dirt and rubble, held fast by a metal gate and a

Latch; the end of the street, the very end of the world,

Path short in body and stretched with imagination,

The home of all my fears and the memories

Of danger, nearly impaled on metal pikes 

And nearly clawed apart by corpses, breathing heavy, 

Grunting, animated by those twisted trees, 

My nostrils bleed, then all of it leaves,

Branches tearing at my skin.

Down past the shadows, curved overhead--

Or curved in my head, reaching into me, 

Way past a latchkey, down into the woods, further

And further! The birds don’t sing to me here, they

Never have, except maybe to warn to stop bludging--

A kookaburra cackles and I shriek and hit, run,

Face to face, shrike claws, it strikes! Morphs

Into an eagle, kookaburra still cackling, laughing, 

Laughing, isn’t this so fun? Kid, you’re back! Your 

Back! Skin torn, chunks chewed, loaded into bellies,

Left right to the vultures. 

  
  



	32. Fires Near Me App

Your life is in the hands of the divine

And those false gods, they are but simple knaves

Please don’t fail me now, keep holding the line. 

The sun and the moon draw a bloody sign

In the dusk air that blows with fire engraved; 

Your life is in the hands of the divine.

Your health falls quickly on the decline

And smoke fills your lungs though you try to stave;

Please don’t fail me now, keep holding the line. 

Dear old Scotty says your home is just fine,

Dear old Scotty sends his prayers to your graves

Your life is in the hands of the divine;

Dear old Scotty sweats, air-conned as he dines

With the rich of Rome, the rest beg to be saved;

Please don’t fail me now, keep holding the line. 

Dear old Gaius sends puppets to coal mines.

Rome was an empire built on slaves;

Your life is in the hands of the divine. 

Dear old Nero sits after a long climb,

Fiddles Britney Spears; Toxic fills the airwaves. 

Please don’t fail me now, keep holding the line. 

You can’t guarantee the danger benign,

Your voice tomorrow may climb many octaves. 

Your life is in the hands of the divine,

Please don’t fail me now, keep holding the line. 


	33. limbo

i feel as though

i exist in limbo

stretched thin between 

two wide, wide worlds

with fingers white knuckled

and slipping;

slipping further 

faster 

falling away from it all

and down.


	34. Whine and Dine

‘Tis disheartening for this heart to tear 

Herself apart and pour her aged feelings

Like a fine wine into a decadent goblet

Only for the drinkers to upturn their noses

Snobbishly and chuck the dregs of her whining

Down the drain, so that nobody but the heart

May taste the emotions bottled so long ago.


	35. those skies

those skies

with the last drops of sunlight

reaching through the grey ocean of clouds,

and pink-tinged ocean above,

the trees stretching high

and swaying like a crowd of

Sunday worshippers, palm fronds in hand,

ebullient in the absolute euphoria

of the beginning of the end;

like a horde of stray zombies,

stumbling across the

cracked and overgrown bitumen

whispering, hushed, smiling

through their abandonment,

laughing through broken throats

and hungry eyes.

those skies! those eight pm skies,

with mosquitos gnawing at sturdy car windows

and houses, paint-peeling, settling their

creaking bones into the still warm earth,

into the concrete cooling slowly,

and with broken glass shimmering in the

early dusk moonlight.


	36. the curtain calls

the curtain calls 

but i sit half-clothed on a crate,

the lines crisscrossing my bare thighs 

as i weep

tugging a blouse over my arms,

inflamed, my whole self

squeezing tightly in one massive bundle, 

don’t sob don’t sob,

no more sizes,

nothing to try on,

i’d love to wear that pattern

it’d complement my smiles...

“are you done yet?” cries a friend 

and i mumble no,

it doesn’t fit.


	37. Ode on the Future

On Sundays, I reach out

And press my hands against the glass

With fingers spread wide about to

Crack through and pass

Into the world outside my 

House, into the fearful reality I must 

Face. The breeze smells sweet and sighs

Periodically, the breeze knows no dust

Or musty stench. At least, so my palm tells me. 

I do not fall into that beautiful wretched

Tableaux; here there be dragons to flee

From! Here there be an ocean of tepid 

Survival cooled rapidly until it melts into the 

Earth! Here there be every colour 

Imaginable, every orange-yellow tree

And every purple-blue sky, and then duller;

A loud clump of buzzing rot here, 

Way below that old elm where your life was 

Buried long ago in the presence of fear. You cannot prise it back from those jaws.

You cannot keep what was writ in water,

As too you cannot erase what was carved in diamond.

But then, I do believe in the future, and in laughter

She fills the house’s stale silence:

Golden-hearted dragons, she smiles,

Silver leaves and pink skies for miles.


	38. On Hollywood Romance

it is not the purpose of a whirlwind to 

feebly swirl in the breeze with 

sudden, occasional caresses, 

hitting walls with no 

buildup, no 

passion, no 

life; 

romance for the sake of romance is not romance,

it is pandering.


	39. I keep thinking about:

i keep thinking about:

the first paycheck spent on 

flowers for a mother.

the tears that found themselves in 

her eyes and then falling, falling

out and down and how do

the tears feel falling? 

the silent apology that has been made,

a truce for now, if only over a 

common enemy. 

the final break away from 

yesterday’s normality,

that toxic relationship held together 

by what? graduating away from

thirteen years of increasing stress,

more and more difficult to manage until

you or it decides you are done? day

after day. or maybe avoiding afterpay.

either way, the big break. the one. 

i keep thinking about a life spoken 

of by another’s tongue,

a person i hardly know, a person made of 

secondhand stories and

electric blue smoke, a person with whom 

i’ve never spoke. 


	40. i wrote this while trying to drink

i wrote this while trying to drink 

the last of my tea;

i was full of it, belly warm,

eyes drooping, 

mint cooling my mouth.


	41. what if one day the sea drained away

what if one day the sea drained away

and all that remained of that meeting of grains

of sand and water was a valley of shells caught

up in the ancient tide, the patience

of eons ebbing away until there is no such bay

or beach to be lost or found again.


	42. how would it be, i wonder

how would it be, i wonder

to scream in down dark street of the 

orange and blue tones brightly

blazing in my soul, umber and peacock and 

gold, to sing to the world 

under a flickering light dangling off

the precipice of a telegraph pole,

high above my thoughts, reaching into the clouds? moths buzzing so high up above. 

i think my voice would crack

in the summer evening sweat;

my brow can’t handle a little radiation,

a little extra heat from the concrete of 

the day. i wonder if anyone would hear 

me and my absolutely cracking voice,

would hear my cry for release?

would their brow fill to the brim from

the broadcast of my song

radiating across the warm pavement and

through glass and into 

their homes. would they care, or 

would they slip their muffs on.


	43. walkie talkie

walkie talkie to the past, exhale wisdom out the crackly speaker, inhale my regrets, let me be little again.


	44. child

oh but nonchalance is the key for

you to make me a child again,

bright pink and dirty white sneakers

knocking against a brick wall

like padded rocks. always so heavy,

so heavy i was; i took up too much space 

with my naive grin. 


	45. be.

your legs burn and your face is hot, 

like you’ve run a marathon in the 

desert day, but it is worth it;

it fits! two out of ten ain’t bad, and 

two out of ten is a hundred dollars,

but two out of ten will fill your appetite

for fashion for the next few weeks, at least, perhaps months! two out of ten

allows you to walk the streets with a

smile, two out of ten allows you to be.


	46. Celebrate Beauty, Celebrate Liberty

sing joy to the beat of crickets 

chirping outside your cracked window!

light the candles and let the gold be 

effervescent! let it wash 

over the pages, your face, the curve of 

your hips and legs, over the soft rise of 

belly as your breaths slow like honey. 

dream! sleep soundly, 

let the burn of today wash away into

tomorrow’s sunrise, and the moon do

her conducting, and the ocean’s chorus 

lull you to rest. beauty

shall not be chained to the shells of the rich;

let beauty lounge in the homes of all;

let beauty in liberty be.


	47. the last time we talked, mr smith, you reduced me to tears (i promise you it won’t happen again)

dropping like flies,

you ignored all our tries

to revive your lungs,

your voices, your tongues.

we smiled and pretended 

everything was fine, we tended

to the happy, happy gardens

on our faces! the dirt hardened 

underneath, but we did not let

you see it; we did not set

a plate of rotten carrots

before you; all the while the tarot

wept, all the while the water

drained away. and shorter

and shorter our patience grew, 

a dozen candles burning through,

and the further away you grew, i found

that in my desperate stretch i was a clown.


	48. An Open Letter

What do you make of me,

When windows freeze shut and 

I trace in misty breath upon its surface

A face, and I look at you through it, divided?

When I sit and breathe upon golden rooftops 

Bleary in the early light, or gazing

Wide, focused, upon the midnight sunset,

Or I sink into drawn water, steam curling

Up and around, brushing so tenderly, 

And I smile at you in the mirror, tired?

Sometimes I press my lips against pages 

I’ve found, letters from you that have

Taken years to arrive, and I cry,

So sometimes I write letters in reply, 

And I pour the remnants of heirloom glitter

Down their fronts, a gift you will have forgotten

Until they make an appearance in some

Old, bruised gift box, like some higher power 

Decided that change was maiming you.

So what do you make of me then, when

You read my letters and press your own 

Lips against the curly handwriting?

And please forgive my questions, for 

I have many, please forgive my 

Naive curiosity! I know only what

I make of myself now, and I openly

Apologise. And so I moisturise;

Shea butter and coconut goes a long way.


	49. Pillow & Blanket

I climbed into bed, hid undercover,

Just like a kid in stormy summers,

Sheets a mockery of health and safety

Like pins pressed through cushion, oh, so dainty,

So fragile, the line that we have drawn

Between “fine” and “hurt”; “yawn” 

And “thorn”; and yet it’s all that we know,

Telling stories to ourselves as though

The danger cannot see, we are simply 

Untouchable, as though a plea

For another dawn is enough for destiny

To smile upon us! us, us us of yesterday

And us of today and us of tomorrow,

And us outside the box; enough to follow

Our lead and create safety and a home

From the smallest pillow and blanket I owned.


	50. New Year’s Morn

Leaden eyelids drag me down and

I’m reminded of all those nights

Spent laughing into the morning,

The marshmallow-sink of 

Borrowed memory foam

And heavy blankets, too warm for

The stifling New Year’s fireworks.

Damn. Another ten have flown by,

Another ten precious moments 

Where I can close my eyes

And dream to the soundtrack

Of sweet whispers,

Tapping fingers,

Raindrops on aluminium 

And the delicious scratch of fingernails

On scalp, a professional 

Gently tugging at your hair.

My thoughts wander, they digress;

I could be allowing myself 

A few more moments of rest.

But the dangerous allure of memories call —

So as not to linger,

I must call it a night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this two years ago, sometime after New Year’s Eve 2018. I found it on a piece of paper in my room and thought it was interesting enough to upload, and if you’ve read my stuff before then it might seem different? I’ve grown a lot over the past few months, let alone years lol

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on [tumblr!](http://deelightfool.tumblr.com/)


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